


Saturday Night Shakeup

by Mix Stitch (Synph)



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, Future Fic, Gen, Injury
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-04
Updated: 2015-01-04
Packaged: 2018-03-05 09:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3113930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Synph/pseuds/Mix%20Stitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even within the superhero set, most of their peers don’t spend Saturday nights drugged up to the gills and injured.  Dick must be one of the lucky ones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Night Shakeup

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tristen84](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tristen84/gifts).



> Another commission for tristen84, the second half of their initial request. Aah!
> 
> Set in an alternate universe for Young Justice (the animated series) where most of season two doesn’t happen and (the most important thing above all) Wally lives past age 21 and the original YJ team head up little teams of their own in addition to being capable solo heroes in charge of patrolling sectors and working as liaisons between the current YG/Teen Titans set up and the League. (Like it’s an actual AU set up I’ve started toying with but these are just the bare bones so the author’s notes don’t wind up a mile long. Hopefully I will be revisiting this AU in the future so I can put my notes to good use!)

It’s a really good thing that they’re not in Gotham City.

Dick wouldn’t be able to live it down if he’d gotten injured on his home turf and by a relatively minor masked villain at that. But here he is in Central City with bruises, a sprained wrist, and a jagged edged cut curving along the front of his left leg.

Injured.

And by Duela Dent no less.

She’s not even out of high school yet! The only thing that’d be more embarrassing for Dick would be if he got his butt ass kicked by an actual preschooler.

*

The rest of the fight is a bit of a blur after Dick goes down.

Literally, considering how Wally goes into action the second that Dick tries to stand and his left leg buckles. Dick settles for slumping back against the nearest solid object, back aching as he watches Wally take care of the rest of the mess in the alley, neatly separating Duela from both her minions and the bag of jewelry that she’d taken from a store only minutes before.

Honestly, Dick doesn’t think that standing is an option. Even if he wanted to leap back into the fray and get into the way of Wally’s flailing limbs, doesn’t trust his legs enough to hold him up. He makes an attempt when Wally sets about securing Duela and her twin helpers, just the one, and nearly winds up collapsing all over again.

"Crap," Dick blurts out as he lands hard on his right arm, jostling his injured wrist in a way that sets stars before his eyes. Dick is used to pain, and his pain tolerance is higher than most, but that doesn’t mean that he  _likes_ landing on an injured wrist in the middle of a fight. He shifts sides, pulling his arm in close to his chest as spikes of pain seem to radiate from his arm, and focuses on sucking in air.

The comm unit in his ear crackles once with static before Kaldur comes online.

"We’re registering an issue with your biofeedback, Nightwing," Kaldur says without preamble, concern evident even with the slightly tinny note that the communication system adds to his deeply accented voice. "What’s going on there? Do you two need backup?"

Dick shakes his head once before he catches himself and remembers that Kaldur is miles away at their base and can’t see him do so. He pulls himself up to a properly seated position, back pressed against a relatively clean stretch of brick wall instead of slumping ever so slowly towards the far dirtier ground around him.

"Things are fine," Dick says after a moment. "Wally’s got it under control."

Kaldur utters a quiet, questioning noise on his end. “And you?”

Dick shrugs and then winces at the sharp pain the motion causes. “I’m a little banged up, but I’ll live.”

Suddenly, Wally skids to a stop beside Dick, leaning over until his body all but blocks out the light from the streetlights around them. He puts his hands on his hips and scowls.

"A little banged up?" Wally repeats Dick’s words with disbelief heavy in his voice. "Kal, if you could see him now you’d probably bench him yourself. I _saw_  the kid go after him with a knife and he’s sitting here like it’s no big deal.” Wally’s attention jerks away from the comm in his ear and he shifts so that he can glare at his best friend and teammate. “Can you even get up, man?”

Dick shrugs. “Maybe.”

Wally doesn’t bother to hide the way that he rolls his eyes.

"Tell me you heard that, Kal," Wally says, ignoring all of Dick’s attempts to kick out and trip him with his uninjured leg. "The dude’s  _bleeding_  — bleeding all over the place — and he’s still trying to act tough.”

Kaldur comes back online, alarm in his voice. “He’s bleeding? Do you need a medic sent to your location?”

Before Kaldur can send for basically every single member of their group that can pop over to Central City in seconds, Dick cuts him off.

"It’s okay," Dick says, voice firm. "You don’t need to send anyone else out here unless it’s to take over for patrol. With Flash-1 on baby watch and Impulse out with his own team, the city could use a bit of extra help. Wally won’t admit it either, but he’s starting to get tired out."

When Wally shoots him a dirty look, Dick grins right back at him. As far as payback goes for Wally snitching on him to Kalur, Dick knows he could’ve probably waited it out to do something  _really_  annoying, but opportunity rarely strikes twice.

"Actually, if they’re not busy, why don’t you pull Impulse’s team and send them this way? I’m going to need Wally to help me with the stitches."

Kaldur hums something that sounds like approval in their ears. “They’re free. I’ll send them to Central City via Zeta Tube; it’ll be faster.” The sound of typing pauses for a second. “Will you need assistance getting to a safe house?”

Wally huffs, crossing his arms across his chest. “I hate you so much,” he mouths, barely above a whisper. He raises his voice so that Kaldur can hear what he says next. “Nah, Kal. I’ve got this.” A second later, the wail of police sirens cuts through the night and Wally glances back at the mouth of the alley before turning back to Dick. “That’s our cue, Kal. We’ll keep you posted in case we need more help.”

Dick barely gets a chance to register Kaldur’s reply. Before he can blink, before he can  _think_ , he’s in Wally’s arms and the world around them is a blur of colors and sounds. When Wally comes to a stop inside a darkened house that Dick belatedly recognizes as one of the safehouses that they set up back when they were kids, Dick groans and clasps his left hand over his eyes as the world around him swims.

"Maybe a little more warning next time?" Dick blurts out when Wally sets him down on a threadbare brown couch that has certainly seen better days. Even the slightest movement sends pain jarring through Dick’s arm and leg and he bites back a curse that trembles at the very tip of his tongue.

Wally blinks, confused. “Why? What’s wrong?”

"What’s  _wrong_ ,” Dick complains, “Is that we were both about to wind up wearing what I had for dinner.” He tilts his head back against the couch and focuses on breathing past the pain. “Ugh. Tell me you have some pain pills somewhere in this place, Wally.”

Wally sweeps a hand through his hair, sending the red strands into further disarray as he shrugs. “Dude, I don’t know,” he admits. “Anything I’ve got’ll probably be too strong for you. You know how my metabolism works. The only things here should be stuff that you brought here, but I don’t know how much of that stuff is good still.”

"Go look," Dick barks out before he collects himself and pushes his fingers through the sweaty strands of black hair hanging lank before his eyes. "Please, Wally. Go look?"

The words are barely out of his mouth before Wally vanishes in a blur of yellow and red, moving throughout the small safehouse and leaving behind predictable noises of dropping objects in his wake.

Wally is back in seconds, brandishing a bottle of pulls that looks nondescript at first glance. He shoves the pills in Dick’s direction and then disappears only to return with a half full glass of water cupped in his right hand and a first aid kit in his left. He sets the glass within reach of Dick’s uninjured hand and keeps the kit for himself.

"Where’d you find these?" Dick asks, eyeing the pills warily.

Wally jabs a finger upward. “In the second bedroom,” he says. “Looks like they were part of a care package from Doc Midnight because that’s the really good stuff from the League. I guess he wanted everything in place just in case one of us got hurt.”

Dick doesn’t even bother to ask how Doctor Midnight knew about this safehouse. He holds up the pill bottle for Wally to open and then shake out two into his hand. He thinks about taking the pills dry but once they’re in his mouth, he rethinks it and grabs for the glass, downing it in two long gulps.

"What should I tackle first?" Wally asks, glancing from Dick’s wrist to the sluggishly bleeding cut on Dick’s thigh. "The cut or the wrist?"

Dick manages a shrug.

"The wrist first, I think," he says. "If it swells up any more, I don’t think we’ll be able to get the glove off at all." He holds his arm out for Wally to look at, feeling a warm sort of haze take hold of him as the pills start their work far faster than expected.

Wally takes Dick’s glove off , revealing a swollen, bruised wrist that aches at the slightest touch. It doesn’t feel broken, Dick thinks. He’s had more than enough broken bones that he can tell off the bat that this isn’t the same thing. But it still hurts when Wally starts to wrap his wrist with a length of gauze and Dick finds himself squeezing his eyes shut tight rather than allow himself to stare at his sprained wrist and the bulge of flesh protruding from it.

"Are you sure you don’t want to go to a hospital?" Wally asks as he works to wrap Dick’s wrist properly.

Dick rolls his eyes. “And tell them  _what_? That I just happened to slip and fall on a knife?” He shakes his head. “It’s fine, Wally. You’ve patched me up before.”

Wally scowls. “Nothing where you’d need stitches, though.” Once the wrap job is finished, Wally turns his attention to the wound in Dick’s leg. He yanks away the armored pants to his costume, tearing it before Dick can manage to mutter something about keeping his suit in one piece. When Dick actually _does_  manage a glare for him, Wally rolls his eyes.

"You can barely stand, Dick," Wally points out. "How exactly was I supposed to get you out of your suit? I know you have spares and there are probably clean clothes somewhere upstairs, so it’s not like you’re all out of clothes." He starts setting up the suture kit from within the larger first aid kit, laying the pieces out across the nearby table. "And seriously, dude— I can’t believe that you’re okay with me stitching you up!"

Dick huffs, eyes slanting away from the suture kit.

"Your aunt taught you how to sew," he mutters.

Wally doesn’t buy it for a second. “Yeah, she taught me how to sew up my socks, not  _people_.”

*

By the time that the pain pills kick in enough to be effective, Dick is a mess. His head lolls against the arm of the couch and he nearly falls off of it when he tries to turn his head to the side to watch the television and the video game that Wally is thoroughly sucking at playing.

"Don’t you have homework that you should be doing?" Dick hears himself ask, a heavy slur in his voice as he watches Wally hit buttons on the controller almost too fast for the Gamestation to keep up with.

Wally snorts. “What are you? My  _mom_?” He hits the pause button on the game and then turns so that he can look at Dick without craning his neck. “How do you feel?”

Dick tries to shrug, but his shoulders flat out ignore the order to rise and fall. He settles for a smile that feels sloppy as he shifts over the couch’s cushions and wobbles his left hand from side to side.

"Honestly?"

"No," Wally drawls. "I want you to lie to me — of course I want you to be honest, Dick!"

More than a little bit high on pain pills, Dick catches himself laughing. No, _giggling_.

"I’m great," Dick confesses, flapping his good hand around. "Whatever Doc Midnight has in those pills, it’s some good stuff."

Wally hunkers down in front of the couch. “Great,” he mutters darkly. “You’re stoned on pain meds. Now how am I going to explain this to Batman?”


End file.
